this gray city: all I have left
an outdated memory map
there are no ghosts to greet me
ask where I’ve been
all the old trailmarkers erased
by wind and rain and time
my own ghost shriveled up and dead
somewhere on Main Street
and on the memory map a note:
here be dragons
20.
the seasonal temporary heat
interrupted by the pounding rhythms
of approaching boots
21.
a manufactured state of emergency
the screams of children on burning playgrounds
22.
today, today play with the fire
light the burners long abandoned
in soul boilers
12.
reflections of clouds on the river’s skin:
rippled islands of lost tribes
or an angry bull, turning to charge?
13.
storms rumble in, singing of the season
a transitional symphony
make certain to count the buckets
in common time
17.
and then there’s a day, soppy with autumn rain
lovely and tired and still
not wanting the night to wash it away
18.
autumn in Appalachia
shades of green dappled with
oranges, reds, yellow
caressed by morning fog
19.
too soon a return, too soon
the call of sacred machines
the forgetting river
salvation is an erasure
the ashes sealing Pompeii
